


Rest

by Miya_Morana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Move, or I'll sleep on you," Sam says, glaring at the angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

Sam's so tired all the time. With the Apocalypse ranging on, him and Dean barely get to sleep two or three hours a night, when they're lucky. Even now that Gabriel's joined them, they still have to be out there, to fight all night and research all day and stay hidden so that neither Heaven nor Hell finds them.

He's started taking naps, here and there, any time he can relax enough to close his eyes and drift off. It doesn't seem to help though, he's so tense that he wakes up even more tired than before. Sleeping with a gun clutched in your hand and all your senses on alert just in case something happens? Apparently, not so restful.

When they get to Bobby's after a tough witch hunting that's left them bloody and damn right exhausted, Sam doesn't have enough energy in him to drag himself to the upstairs bedroom. He eyes the couch where Gabriel's already sitting, remote control in hand, flipping through the channels of a big flat screen TV that wasn't there five minutes ago.

"Move," he says, or more accurately grunts, as he sits down next to him. He tries to shove the archangel off the couch, but _of course_ Gabriel doesn't budge.

"Move, or I'll sleep on you," Sam says, glaring at the angel.

Gabriel feigns shock, always dramatic, a hand on his chest and eyebrows rising up. "But it's the middle of the afternoon!" he says, all mock indignation.

Sam glares some more, then sighs. "Suit yourself," he groans, then leans down to lay on the too short couch, head resting in Gabriel's lap. As soon as his eyes close, he's sleeping.

In his dream, he's in a warm place, a comforting place. He knows nothing can happen to him as long as he's there, he can finally let go of all that tension, all his worries and his fears. He bathes in the warmth, lets it wrap around him. All his guilt and anguish seem to melt away, the horror of what they see every day, of all these deaths and all this blood, recedes to the back of his mind.

Sam keeps his eyes closed when he wakes up, tries to hang on to the feeling of peace and quiet he's found in the dream. The warmth is still here, he can feel it against his cheek, feel it gently caressing his hair, and he sighs. It's a happy sound. He feels more rested than he has for weeks now.

He opens his eyes, turning his head just enough to meet Gabriel's gaze above him. The archangel is smiling at him, a soft curve of lips so far from his usual smirk that Sam has to smile back. Gabriel's eyes twinkle then, and the hand stroking Sam's hair moves to his cheek, warm and soft fingers brushing against his skin.

Time seems to stop. They look into each other's eyes for what seems like eternity, until a yawn forces its way out of Sam. The strange tension seems to break then, and Sam rolls over, buries his face into Gabriel's shirt. And laughs.

"What?" Gabriel asks in a quiet voice, intrigued. Sam answers without looking up.

"Your shirt smells like candy."


End file.
